


Stocking Filler

by ArtemisArcher83



Series: B Series [12]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Christmas, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisArcher83/pseuds/ArtemisArcher83
Summary: A late Christmas effort to keep me writing. Bering and Wells at Christmas with the family.Cute/cranky kids, in-laws, some warehouse crew, board games and original characters from my B-Series.Some characters and references won't make sense unless you've read the rest of my B-Series (starting with The Bubble).





	Stocking Filler

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a 'hey, I'm still here' mini-fic for those awaiting the next part in my B-Series, The Battle. I am still writing but RL has taken up most of my down time this last six months and will continue to do so for a while yet. I write when I can but it's a very slow process. I have not forgotten about this story though!
> 
> This is not as well edited as I normally like. I hope it's still enjoyable.

Even before Pete and his brood arrived, there was an abundance of frenetic energy in the Wells-Bering house on Christmas morning. From five am, Catherine had been awake and eager to discover the contents of the huge pile of presents under the tree. At eight years old, she had grasped the concept that many of the shiny things were not for her, but the anticipation and excitement to uncover the unknown bubbled hotly from within.

The shuffling of slippered-feet on carpet broke into the dying vestiges of Helena Wells-Bering’s dreamy memories of ‘Mrs Clause’ and her naughty-list. Dark eyes opened and blinked at the sight of a plate of crumbs, and it took several seconds before her brain connected the dots.

“Mummy!” came Cat’s excited ‘whisper’. “Someone’s eaten all the cookies. Was it Santa?”

Helena stretched under the covers and yawned. She glanced behind her to find the usual mass of tangled curls that marked an active night and grinned to herself. Rising up onto one elbow, she plucked the plate from her daughter’s hand and popped it onto the nightstand. “I imagine so, my dear.” She shuffled a little to make room and peeled back the covers to encourage the girl to join her. “They were all present and accounted for when your mother and I retired for the evening, and Uncle Pete was nowhere in sight. One must therefore deduce the appearance of the fabled St. Nick.”

“Do you think he brought anything for me, Mummy?” the girl asked, her expression serious and somewhat concerned that perhaps she had not lived up to behavioural expectations. Though the room was peaceful and she pulled the covers snugly around her, she couldn’t relax.

“Did you remember to brush your teeth?” HG asked, thinking of the most recent pact they’d made to encourage good habits.

Catherine’s hazel orbs brightened. “Yes.”

“Clear away the toys you’ve finished playing with?”

“Yep!”

“Respect your brother and sister’s private spaces?”

Bright eyes and smile dimmed slightly. “Erm... I didn’t touch anything... much.”

The inventor cuddled her daughter closer, offering the reassurance her child was searching for. “I’m sure that Santa is aware of all the effort you’ve made this year,” she responded gently.

“Really?” Cat wondered aloud. Her gaze dropped to the tartan pattern on her mother’s night shirt. “Even thought I’m naughty sometimes?”

“Naughty?” Helena considered the adjective. When her youngest was at her worst, there were times when she considered the possibility of demon possession, but she preferred to focus on cause rather than symptom. “Challenging, I’d say. But not without reason,” Helena allowed. “The important thing to remember, love, is that you are contrite when you realise that you’ve done wrong and are willing to discuss methods of change.” The body behind her moved and an arm appeared around her waist. She shared a look of amusement with her daughter and Catherine giggled manically as the phantom appendage found her leg and captured it. A knee collided with the inventor’s thigh and she huffed indignantly. “Have a care!” she cried at the then wrestling duo.

Myka chuckled at the grumbling Brit and doubled her efforts to tickle the wriggling child. The squeals must have carried through the upstairs because, within a few minutes, the bedroom door flew open and an energetic eleven-year-old came barrelling through the opening with unusual enthusiasm for such an early hour.

“Bonzai!” Freddy yelled as he leapt onto the bed and landed in a heap between his mothers.

“Freddy! Guess what?” Catherine cried as she rolled from beneath the covers and joined her brother, mindless of the limbs she squashed in the interim. “Santa came!” she announced and made a grab for the evidence. With all the finesse of a bull, she waved the plate at him and sprayed a shower of crumbs over her parents.

Myka froze, rolled her eyes and then tittered at the sour expression on her wife’s face. As the children began to bounce in earnest, she told them to fetch their stockings and wake their sister up. Once the pounding of little feet had faded, she wrapped herself once more around HG’s body and peppered kisses along her collar. “Good morning,” she murmured against pale skin.

“Mmm,” Helena hummed in response as she rolled into the brunette’s arms and captured exploring lips. “Yes, it is.”

Mindful of the open door and excitable children, hands remained above the covers and in respectable places, but lips continued to dance and embrace with enthusiasm, selfish in their desire never to part.

An indignant scoff passed unnoticed until a large, fluffy projectile bounced off the side of Myka’s head and landed with a flump on the floor. Stunned, the couple parted and shared a look of confusion before another missile struck the Brit with unerring accuracy and they finally glanced at the door. There stood Christina, cropped hair mused from sleep and hands on hips, a stuffed raccoon dangling from her left fore-finger. She did not appear impressed.

“Why did Thing 1 and Thing 2 decide that it was a good idea to leap on me and drag me out of bed without so much as a ‘by your leave’?” the young adult asked sharply. “It’s five-thirty!”

The terrors in question reappeared at that moment, stocking trailing behind them, before they clambered back onto the bed and tipped their hoard out onto the covers. Myka bit her lip but her shoulders were already shaking with laughter. Beside her, Helena levelled an impassive and utterly unrepentant look at their eldest until Christina eventually gave in and disappeared, muttering darkly to herself as she went to fetch the present she’d vaguely made note of after her rude wake up. Myka’s unrestrained laugh followed her down the hall and she rolled her eyes. Slowly, a hint of a smile crept along her mouth.

“Parents,” she grumbled fondly.

* * * * *

By seven-thirty, Myka had begun to regret waking Christina up so early. Normally, the twenty-year-old pitched in with everything and with that extra pair of hands, either the younger two were distracted and not under her feet or she helped to make sure jobs were finished on time. In retaliation to their lack of sympathy, the young adult had decided to spend all of her time in the bathroom.

Satsumas had not satisfied hungry bellies for long and after breaking one of her toys already, Catherine was especially grouchy. With breakfast not scheduled until eight-thirty and already running late, the brunette had resorted to buttering chunks of bread and leaving them on a separate plate so she could pop them in her children’s mouths when they appeared in the kitchen to complain about each other. _Like caring for baby birds,_ she thought and wished again that her eldest was there to whip up her usual pre-breakfast snacks. Helena was supposed to be picking Myka’s parents up at eight and until she returned, Myka was holding the fort.

An indignant squeal came from the playroom and she sighed. “Really wish I’d let Chrissi sleep,” she muttered as she placed her knife out of reach and wiped her hands on a towel.

From the connecting living room doorway, the regent found her youngest two in a tug-o-war with a stretchy, green frog and closed her eyes for a second as she prayed for strength. “What on earth are you two scrapping about now?” she asked, for once not trying to hide her exasperation.

“Freddy’s got my frog!” Catherine cried at an almost inhuman pitch.

“No I haven’t! You wanted orange. This is _my_ frog!” the boy yelled back.

Knowing that Catherine had chosen the ‘poisonous’ frog, Myka knew that things were getting out of hand. Cat only became this unreasonable when she was over stimulated or having a sugar crash. She walked forward, wrapped her fingers around the frog and stared at the pair of them with stern silence until they each relented reluctantly and released the toy. The eight-year-old’s pugnacious expression almost brought a smile to her face but the fierce hostility that adorned her son’s usually placid features cooled her amusement.

“Christmas is a time for goodwill and kindness,” Myka began calmly. “Toys will have to wait now. You can play again after breakfast, if you can be more civilised with each other for the next two hours. By then, it will be time to open the gifts under the tree, so think carefully about whether or not you want to be a part of that.” Her face told them everything they needed to know about how serious she was. “Now, I need help in the kitchen. Catherine, you will set the table, please. Freddy, go and tell Christina that I’m very sorry and I won’t do it again. And will she please come and help us? Then I want you to put all of the cold food things out so they’re ready for when people arrive. Clear?”

Freddy moved with only a slight huff and a glance at his sister. Catherine stared at her shoes, avoiding her mother’s eyes as she felt the consequences of her short temper like an anvil on her shoulders. She sensed movement and soon found her Mama’s face close to her own.

“Catherine, I know that Christmas is exciting and you want everything to happen right now; presents, games, food and fun all at once,” she winked to show that she wasn’t too cross and watched the girl relax a little. “Remember to use your cool-down space, Sweetie. It’s there to help you, ok?”

Catherine wiped her face with her sleeve. “Ok, Mama.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can get breakfast on the table then, shall we?” the brunette said with exaggerated cheer. “I think full tummies will help us all to be less cranky.”

* * * * *

HG pulled into the driveway with relief to be home again. Much as her relationship with her in-laws had improved over the years, being trapped in an enclosed space with them for an extended period was not her idea of fun. Nine years was really beginning to show in both of them and the inventor quickened her pace to offer Mrs Bering a hand as she tried to get out of the car. She would have done the same for Mr Bering, but he’d only become more stubborn and grouchy with old age so she hovered close by, pretending to find something in her bag.

Every year that passed them by brought out more frailties than the last but only recently had the Warehouse crew noticed the limited change in Rupert and Eleanor. The two Warehouse 12 magnates were no less spritely now than when they had appeared before Claudia over ten years ago. In fact, they were beginning to wonder if the couple were actually becoming _more_ active as time went by.

Inside, there was a lot of hustle and bustle between kitchen and dining room as food transferred from the chopping block or heat onto plates. Catherine, like a miniature version of her sister, followed Christina eagerly back and forth while Freddy passed things to the girls from their harried mother. Hearing the front door close, Myka released her son from his duty and sent him on his way.

Fredrick bounded into the hallway to greet his grandparents, all the while trying to be subtle in his attempts to peek into their bag of presents. After some hurried hugs, he gladly took their luggage and raced up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Fredrick!” HG called after him and then immediately followed. “They need to go under the tree. No peeking, young man!”

Left alone in the entrance hall, Mr and Mrs Bering exchanged a look and then both jumped slightly as a wavy-haired blur shot passed them, following after their grandson. Their daughter’s sharp tone travelled the same path but the blur took no notice, an excited ‘ _let me see!’_ falling from its mouth. As they removed their coats and hung them in the closet under the stairs , a third figure appeared, this one content to take her time to greet them properly and they pulled their eldest grandchild into a hug before allowing her to lead them into the kitchen.

“Mom, Dad,” Myka greeted her parents distractedly. She had a large serving dish in her mittened hands and appeared in a hurry to get it to the table. “Christina, could you help your mum corral Cat and Freddy to the dining room, please. I think we’re actually ready for when everyone’s here.” As she placed the dish down and removed the oven-gloves, the regent released a great sigh of relief and finally took note of the new arrivals. “Oh, you’re here,” she blurted and then shook her head, realising how redundant her statement was. “Of course you are. Was the journey ok? How’s Aunt Susie?”

“As dotty as ever,” Warren grumbled and received a sharp elbow to his ribs for his troubles.

“The roads were blessedly quiet,” Jeannie answered as if her husband hadn’t spoken. “Susie’s knees are still playing up – the cold doesn’t help her, poor dear, but she still manages to get around.”

The doorbell rang just as Myka helped her mother into a chair and the rabble made their way downstairs again. Not wanting to lose them a second time, the regent levelled a firm gaze at her two youngest and bade them to stay in their seats until the last of their guests could join them. Moments later, Helena ushered Rupert and Eleanor into the dining room and left them to find their seats. Myka squeezed her wife’s hand and leant in for a quick kiss, the action helping to calm her slightly frayed nerves after the morning’s antics. HG kept hold of the digits that wrapped around hers and entertained herself by mapping their contours while her in-laws made their thanks to the almighty for their meal.

* * * * *

“Love, put the gift-wrap in the bin-bag, please,” Helena repeated for the umpteenth time. Her tone grew harder with each repetition, but behind her eyes, a spark of fond amusement persisted.

Myka sat on a cushion, her legs spread out on the rug in front of her and her wife’s legs hugging her hips. Both had finished opening their gifts as Catherine insisted that her mothers couldn’t just sit and watch. Now Myka was fiddling with the new pendant around her neck while wiggling her toes to make the antlers on her socks dance. Behind her, the inventor watched the happy antics around the tree, her chin resting on Myka’s shoulder.

Freddy sat amidst his neatly arranged presents, occasionally moving them around as he organised the toys and games into order of which he wanted to use first. The Lego Technic car was first in line – he could start building on the dining table after Christmas dinner and then Sophie could help when Uncle Pete came over; followed by a new action-figure set – accessories and all; the latest flight-sim game for his console, and a small pile of books and clothes. Behind his right knee, the last of his presents sat and he picked it up with the look of someone who wanted to preserve a precious moment. As the wrapping paper came away though, his eager expression drifted, to be replaced by valiantly concealed disappointment.

“Socks,” he said, his voice wavering as he tried to retain some semblance of gratitude. “Thanks, Moms,” he added with a smile.

Myka felt her wife’s chuckle and indulged in one of her own. “Read the packet, sweetheart,” the brunette told her son gently.

Following the direction, the boy took a closer look at his gift and, sure, enough, found his excitement returning. “They’re for open water swimming? You’re going to let me go? Really!?”

“On a probationary arrangement,” HG assured him as she injected a tone of warning into her voice. “You’re to follow all safety instructions or you’ll have to wait until you’re sixteen.” The harsh warning did nothing to dampen the smile on her son’s features and he leapt from his patch of carpet, carefully navigated his wall of gifts and threw himself at her and Myka.

Christina, who sat in her usual beanbag, this time sandwiched between two sets of elders, laughed at her brother’s enthusiasm and remembered fondly the bath times she used to help her mothers with. “Always the water-baby,” she teased him. “Thomas says he’ll start taking you with him in the spring – depending on water temperature.”

“Lots of people swim in cold water,” Fredrick protested lightly at the delay. Ever since he’d discovered open water sports, he’d wanted to be out in the lake and had badgered his mothers for almost two years to let him have a go. Since starting at junior-high school and finding himself on the swimming team though, his pleas had finally made an impact with his stubborn parents. “But that’s ok,” he amended quickly when he caught simultaneous frowns directed his way. “Whatever Tommy thinks is best.”

A shiver shot through Mrs Bering as she regarded her grandson and tried to imagine stepping into a lake as if it was the sea at a lovely summer holiday resort. “I don’t know how they can do it. Or why they would want to. Indoor pools are heated,” she added as if it was the only thing that should be considered.

“Each to their own, Mom,” Myka answered simply, knowing that no amount of explaining would get past her mother’s limited ability to understand that people were different. She shifted her gaze to her father and noticed that he was already beginning to appear drowsy. As her mother began to natter on about the one time she had visited the coast as a child, Myka looked for Rupert and found him engaged with Catherine and the five-hundred piece jigsaw she’d insisted on starting.

He didn’t look entirely happy to be sitting on the floor, Myka suspected that he would insist on moving to the table before long, but there was an underlying liveliness about him that she struggled to find in her own parents. She still wasn’t convinced that she and Helena weren’t making mountains out of mole hills but the seed of suspicion had been planted and only the passing years would prove them right or wrong.

* * * * *

Their extended family was too large now to accommodate all of them at the Wells-Bering dining table. Steve, Jason and (move often than not in recent times) Meghan chose to congregate in New Jersey with Mrs Jinks; Artie and Vanessa kept mostly to themselves until Boxing Day when Dr Calder forced her husband to socialise; Tracy and Kevin alternated between going to Kevin’s parents’ and having the Berings over at theirs; Pete had his mother and sister staying with him most years; Abigail always stayed with her parents; which left Claudia, Leena and Thomas with the option of staying on the island for the holidays or taking up the spare rooms at Eleanor and Rupert’s. Normally it was the latter. Christmas just didn’t feel the same when they didn’t get to spend their evenings entertaining the Wells-Bering/Lattimer children and eating all of Myka and Helena’s buffet food.

At three o’clock, after the mammoth task of cleaning up dinner debris, Christina opened the front door to three more guests. She pulled Claudia and Leena into crushing hugs and thanked them both profusely for the gifts they’d given her before pushing them in the direction of the living room. The red head winked as she moved past and promised to keep HG distracted for as long as she could. Christina blushed her thanks, slid her hand into her boyfriend’s and tugged him toward the stairs. It didn’t matter that she was twenty years old, her mother still had the ability to make her nervous about having a boy in her room.

“Claudia!” Catherine shrieked as the redhead wandered into the living room. She jumped up from her spot, scattering half a dozen jig-saw pieces over the carpet, and impacted the caretaker at full speed, knocking the wind out of her. “Is it time?” she asked desperately, her puzzle forgotten.

“Soon, Kitty Cat,” Claudia replied with a conspiring wink. “I brought it with me,” she added and pulled an item from the inside of her jacket as if it were a bunch of flowers.

A groan rose from the other side of the room. “Again?” HG asked.

“Oh, HG,” the redhead directed at the pouting woman. “You know you love our Dickensian addition to the Christmas spirit. What’s Christmas without,” she pulled gravel into her voice and hunched over the pre-teen for dramatic effect, “Ebeneezer Scrooge?” At the inventor’s raised eyebrow, she added, “And what’s Christmas without puppets and singing? Plus, who beats Gonzo and Rizzo as stars of the show?”

“I prefer Alastair Simm myself,” Myka responded quietly.

“Bill Murray and Carol Kane,” Leena piped up with an amused smile as she made herself comfortable and watched the predictable back and forth.

“Oh yeah, best ghost of Christmas present,” Claudia agreed readily. “But nothing beats A Muppet’s Christmas Carol,” she insisted and high-fived her partner in crime. “What say you guys?” she asked the older Wellses.

“I agree with Myka so far as it concerns a straight re-telling of the tale. Although I do think there is a certain charm to the puppets and their melodies,” Eleanor replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Yes, I see,” Helena responded with an exaggeratedly haughty air and rolled her eyes. “Outnumbered again.” She glanced around to look for a supportive face. Her brain took stock of the bodies and a frown replaced the playful grumpiness she’d been wearing. “Did just the two of your come today?” she asked Claudia as her suspicions grew.

Myka felt her wife’s leg muscles twitch, preparing to propel the inventor into action. Having read Helena’s feelings and come to the same conclusion regarding the missing persons, she sent a wave of calming thought through their bond and wrapped her hands around twin knees. “Give them some space, honey,” she pleaded. “They’re adults.”

HG looked mutinous at the suggestion but eventually relented and sank back into her cushion. But though her body remained still, her mind raced as she thought about (and tried not to think about) what could be happening upstairs. Thomas and Christina began dating almost a year before the young woman embarked on her adventure into the past. A tiny nugget of selfish hope had persisted after she and Myka had de-bronzed their daughter; a hope that Christina would want to remain young and carefree a while longer, without the complications that came with burgeoning romance. It was a foolish and pointless hope driven by the inventor’s desire to keep her baby innocent and (ultimately) safe. Logic, and Myka, repeatedly told her that she was trying to tame a tide. Many times she had tried to see Thomas as an addition to the family rather than a thief who wanted to steal her little girl, but it was a work in progress and probably would be for some time yet.

* * * * *

The young couple appeared in time to catch the beginning of the movie and to prevent HG from having a meltdown or resorting to nefarious means. Feeling rebellious, Christina pushed her boyfriend into her vast beanbag and settled herself into his lap, shooting the inventor a look that dared her to object.

After a sing-a-long, led mostly by the Wells-Bering children and Claudia, Myka and Helena got to work in the kitchen, fixing plates of finger food and covering work surfaces with them. In one corner, out of the way for young hands to accidentally help themselves, they placed Helena’s attempt at punch and a selection of other alcoholic beverages. Pete’s family arrived in the middle of the chaotic change over and added a new level of noise and energy to the mix. Nobody complained. Though that might have been largely due to the fact that Warren Bering was fast asleep in his armchair.

Bodies naturally separated into other rooms as different activities and games began. Jeannie Bering stuck loyally to her husband’s side, regaling a politely attentive audience consisting of Leena and Jane Lattimer. Pete, his sister, Claudia and Rupert took charge of the four pre-teens in the playroom, while the rest congregated around the dining table, the level of teasing and friendly arguments increasing steadily with each drink consumed.

Games like Scrabble became dangerously competitive with so many bibliophiles in the same room.

They were playing in pairs: Myka and Helena, Thomas and Christina, and Eleanor and Lila. The youngest amongst them had wanted to protest against her parents forming one team but since _she_ wanted to stay with her significant other, she decided to trust that Myka would temper Helena’s need to win. That, of course, didn’t account for Myka’s tipsy, devil-may-care mood.

“Bedizen,” Myka declared as she laid her tiles on the board, earning a triple letter score for her _b_ and _z_.

“Forty-four points,” Helena announced happily, smirking at the groan that came from her daughter. She felt Myka’s conflict and reached to squeeze her knee. Her wife normally controlled her competitive side when playing against the children but, at least with Christina, HG rather enjoyed the occasional game where they stretched their wings a little further and pushed their daughter to bring her A-game. She placed a chaste kiss against a rosy cheek and refilled their drinks.

Eleanor watched this interaction with a critical eye. She sensed her granddaughter’s mischief and felt her own inner-sprite rise up. Suddenly, the relaxed, passive attitude she felt towards the gathering disappeared and was replaced by a thirst to beat the inventor at her game and knock her down a peg or two. If she could manage it without Helena suspecting, then so much the better. She watched as Thomas took his turn and then thought a while before playing her own word.

“Flex, with a double score for _x._ Twenty-one,” Myka said as she added it to the scorecard and indicated Helena’s turn.

Christina found herself becoming increasingly flustered towards the fifth round. Her ‘ _f, k_ and _j_ , though higher scoring than many tiles, did not want to fit together or find a suitable home on the board. She sat back after an unsatisfactory attempt to gain some more ground and gulped grumpily at her wine.

“Maybe you should go easy on the drink, babe,” Thomas whispered as he pulled more tiles out of the bag. “Your mum’s on a mission tonight, I think.”

The young woman deliberately slowed the journey of her glass to her mouth and savoured the taste of the Shiraz. She glanced at her parents and rolled her eyes when she found them staring intently at each other. Despite her familiarity with the scene, she could feel a smile tugging at her lips. They had both imbibed more alcohol than usual and it showed in the caresses that lingered and the girlish giggles that occasionally passed between them. Maybe she could use their distractions to her advantage.

“You guys are so embarrassing when you’re sloshed,” she told them bluntly. “Like at Grandpa Bering’s seventieth birthday. I still don’t know how neither of you were arrested.”

Mrs Wells caught onto Christina’s intention and immediately jumped on the bandwagon. “No matter how senile I might become, I don’t believe that I will ever forget Helena’s first foray into the world of alcohol-fuelled misdeeds.”

HG had the decency to appear a little sheepish at the reminder of that infamous misadventure. “Let’s not get into that, shall we?”

“You don’t wish to share the night that you helped yourself to your father’s scotch and _borrowed_ your mother’s personal carriage?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Christina cried, her grin triumphant. “I definitely want to hear _that_ ,” she declared and leant back in her chair to make a point of looking attentive.

There was a chorus of agreement around the room before Myka turned to her wife with a soft smile. “I would like to hear the story.”

HG rolled her eyes but couldn’t object with those soft green eyes gazing at her. She waved nonchalantly at her grandmother. “Do your worst.”

* * * * *

In the playroom, Sophie, Jake and Jean Lattimer were gesticulating wildly over a low table while Catherine watched with rap fascination and Fredrick spluttered through tears of laughter.

As part of her ongoing efforts to recapture a missed youth, Claudia insisted every year on buying a new, old game. This year’s addition to the collection was ‘Dream Phone’, a gender stereotyped _girls’_ game where players were encouraged to find the model, male specimen that allegedly fancied them, by eliminating possibilities – basically, a more sinister version of Cluedo. Needless to say, none of them were taking it very seriously.

Pete in particular was in his element. He put on his best effeminate voice and twirled a finger through his hair while he giggled into the garish-pink phone. “Oh, Dan,” he simpered into the receiver, “you’re not my man.” After pretending to hang up, he popped it back in the middle of the table and began inspecting his nails.

Claudia, who’d disappeared abruptly five minutes into the game, reappeared next to a bemused looking Rupert and pouted at the scene. “Less poofing is needed,” she grumbled. At the regent’s questioning expression, she brightened overenthusiastically. “Nothing to worry about! Crisis averted.” She leant against a storage unit that was bursting with toys and tried to appear unconcerned. “Something about an oojit being out of sync with a whatzit.”

Mr Wells raised a knowing brow though couldn’t help but chuckle at the exaggerated exasperation on the young caretaker’s face. “I’m sure that you managed to sort the problem with your usual aplomb.  You have missed much of the... I hesitate to say... _fun_ while you were absent though.”

The redhead threw her hands into the air. “I know! And now I’ll never know how to find my dream hunk,” she added with hands clasped against her heart and eyelashes fluttering.

“I do not know how you will cope without the wisdom which lies therein,” the regent began with a tone full of sarcasm as he pointed at the game. “The poorer you must feel t have to rely on your wits and sparkling personality instead.” He allowed a twitch of his lips to accompany the sparkle in his eyes. “I should consider throwing in the towel, dear.”

“Oh, you,” Claudia gushed. She took a breath and an idea fell into her thoughts. “I know which game you should play.” She stood abruptly from her chair. “Kids! And, yes, I do mean you, Pete. Who wants to play Bizzy Buzzy Bumble Bees?”

“But I haven’t met my dream guy yet,” Agent Lattimer complained.

Jean signed something that looked particularly suggestive as Claudia aimed a _look_ at Pete and said, “Try a mirror. We all know he’s there!”

“Well, yeah,” Pete nodded to himself and then turned to Jeannie and added, “Also - rude! Just for that, _I’m_ going to be the green bee,” he told her.

“I bought two boxes so we can have eight players,” the caretaker responded and smirked along with Jeannie Lattimer. “Come on, Rupes. You can be blue.”

“Yeah, Grandpa,” Catherine agreed as she sprang from her seat and half climbed into the cautious regent’s lap. “We can be the blue team!”

“Let’s pollinate some flowers!” Claudia cried, not missing the noteworthy expression on Pete’s face. “Really? There _are_ children other than you present!”

Sophie grabbed her father’s hand, saving him from further reprimand and dragged him to a prize spot on the floor before shoving a red headband at him. He said nothing about the colour, leaving his son, Jake to join Jean on the green team. A jab against his bicep jerked his attention towards the caretaker. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Being a doofus. Come, on – it’s party time!”

Agent Lattimer rubbed the sore spot on his arm and grumbled to himself, “Can’t escape being hit even when Myka’s not in the room.”

* * * * *

“So how did you convince the police not to arrest you?” Lila wondered as she placed her next word on the board and smiled at what she considered a decent score.

“Civility.” HG answered simply. “Even when feigned, it can absolve you of many a blunder. I apologised, said that I had an urgent message to deliver and had temporarily lost control of the animal pulling the carriage.” She smirked. “Hyde Park, I’d imagine, _would_ be an attractive prospect for any horse. After assuring him that I could manage, I continued on my way.”

“Yes, you had all the makings of a con artist even then,” Eleanor teased. “You certainly tried often enough to con me with your wiles.”

“I even succeeded once or twice,” HG boasted.

“Did you make it Eleanor and Rupert’s?” Myka asked, wanting to hear how the story would end. “Or did your horse take another detour?”

The inventor’s head canted slightly as a smile crept along her lips. “We might have stopped off here and there. I think I recall asking for directions to Abergavenny.” Her daughter snorted her amusement and HG chuckled.

“And somehow you still managed to find your way into my sitting room.” Eleanor turned to the room. “She was snoring quite spectacularly when Rupert wandered down for his morning tea.”

“Shocking lies!” Helena exclaimed when they all laughed.

Myka bit the inside of her cheek and hid her face by staring overly long at her tiles. She felt all eyes on her but didn’t relent until Christina slapped the table and cried ‘Ma!’, accompanying the outburst with a look that said ‘please tell me it’s true’. “Hmm?” she tried to fake ignorance but at the sight of many raised brows, sighed. She offered her wife an apologetic glance. “Sorry, honey, but I can well believe it. Not normally, but when you’re ill or you’ve had a few to drink...”

“Ha! I knew it!” Christina laughed. She noticed a short exchange between Eleanor and Lila over the letters that remained in their hand and deliberately leaned in front of her boyfriend as he played so that she would look like she was trying to distract her parents from _his_ hand. “How old were you, Mum?”

“Twenty-two,” HG responded quickly – a little too quickly – before trying to change the subject.

Mrs Wells almost rolled her eyes. She did tsk quite forcefully though. “You were _seventeen_ , just barely. You told those poor, unsuspecting officers that you were two and twenty.”

Christina’s amusement burst from her once again, tears coming to her eyes as her mother’s sour expression intensified. “Mum!”

“Thank you, Norrie. That was just the rousing tale that I wanted my young, adult daughter to hear. Something for her to aspire to,” HG said sardonically.

“I like to think of it as more of a cautionary tale,” Eleanor remarked, her expression satisfied with the effect she was having on her granddaughter. At a heavy eye-roll from Helena, she raised a brow and tapped a nail on the table. “You are not too old to go over my knee, Helena Wells-Bering,” she warned.

HG pursed her lips, the tone of her grandmother’s voice making her feel contrary – like she had often felt as a child. A mumbled response tripped with unfiltered defiance from her lips, “I would rather Myka’s knee.”

Myka choked on her wine before reaching over to pat her wife’s leg. “That’s a thought for a private moment, Helena.”

“Gross,” Christina shivered, her face scrunched up as she tried to banish the visual from her mind. Lila and Helena meanwhile laughed at the young woman.

Lila was still giggling sporadically to herself as the players ran out of tiles or moves and they began their final round. Myka and Helena were ahead with points, but not by much. The combination of alcohol and distraction had served its purpose; Christina and Thomas were barely fifteen points behind, and Eleanor and Lila only another twenty behind them. The results seemed cut and dry, but there was still time for someone to jump into the lead.

HG sat back in her seat, feeling quietly confident. She and Myka didn’t have quite the lead she’d anticipated, but they’d played some obscure and high scoring words, so she felt pleasantly satisfied with their performance. As she waited, she thought back to the few precious minutes of privacy they’d had that morning and wondered whether Myka would have enough energy to continue where they’d left off. Her mind drifted and before long, she felt green eyes staring accusingly. She turned to gaze upon flushed features. Scrabble, and the state of her victory, was suddenly the last thing on her mind.

As the inventor leant closer to her wife to whisper into the brunette’s ear, Lila laid the last playable tiles on the board and smirked at the amused expressions that fell on the still attentive players.

“Quadratic,” Eleanor read and began to list the bonuses, “double letter _q,_ double letter _c,_ and triple word score. One hundred and two.”

Christina whooped, successfully breaking her parents out of their semi-trance. “Way to go, Lila!” she congratulated the pleased blonde.

The entwined regents looked blankly at the board for several seconds with almost identical expressions of disbelief before Myka burst out laughing. “Well played, you guys. Very smooth game. Wasn’t it, honey?” she asked the inventor, willing her wife to take the loss without complaint.

Helena glanced between her daughter and grandmother, rightly concluding that they were each responsible for silently masterminding her downfall. “Yes indeed; well played. I hardly suspected a thing.” Turning to Pete’s better half she added graciously, “Congratulations, Lila. A well deserved victory if ever I saw one.” She felt Myka’s approval and turned to pull her wife into a kiss.

Christina rolled her eyes heavily. “I need another drink,” she muttered, drawing a disapproving look from HG. “And _you_ need not throw those eyes at me! _I’m_ only six months under age and at home, with adult supervision.” She grinned at the jaw that snapped shut and winked at her great-grandmother.

Eleanor glanced at Helena, chuckled to herself and then quietly found her composure. “Another game, dear?”

* * * * *

An undertone of subtle teasing continued through the evening: after Pete and Lila had taken their children home, once Catherine and Fredrick were finally asleep, as Christina disappeared to say goodbye to Thomas, and right up until only Myka and Helena remained downstairs – quietly tidying up the last of the debris from the day’s activities.

HG stood at the sink, washing the few items that couldn’t or wouldn’t go into the dishwasher, while Myka stood next to her and dried. The eve of Christmas day always hit them with a bitter-sweet feel; so much anticipation, a day enjoyed with family, and it came to an end all too quickly. They were silent; wrapped up in their own thoughts until the last pot was dry and put away in its cupboard.

“I think Christina has really enjoyed teasing you today,” the brunette said as she dried her hands and hung the towel up.

The inventor smiled at the reminder. “She’s adorable when she thinks she’s antagonising me.” As her wife stepped closer, she opened her arms and wrapped them around a slim waist, pulling their bodies flush.

“I don’t know how you keep a straight face.” Myka pushed fingers into inky hair that, in recent months, had gathered a significant amount of silver. “You know, you do the same thing to Eleanor – deliberately try to wind her up.” She smirked as dark eyes narrowed. “We never stop wanting their attention, do we?” she added, taking any element of accusation out of her words.

Helena’s gaze flickered between bright eyes and waiting lips. Her hands tensed against the brunette’s back, her eyelids fluttered closed and she leant in the capture Myka’s mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. Fingernails scraped lightly against her scalp and she groaned at the delightful tingling sensation that trembled down her spine. It was a shame that the day had whizzed by so quickly but wonderful that there was finally time for just the two of them.

Pulling Helena closer, Myka backed into the counter, unmindful of the bruise with which the impact would probably mark her skin. Having more reverence for the younger regent’s body, HG moved one arm to cushion the point of contact with unyielding stone and slid her other hand lower to explore the much-loved contours of a shapely bottom.

It had been years since they’d made love in the kitchen and their passion for each other made them both less concerned with the possibility of being caught, but somehow they managed to find the motivation to drag themselves upstairs to their bedroom.

Satisfaction came accompanied by flesh-muffled cries and ragged breaths, and as tempting as it was to stoke those fires again, exhaustion swiftly followed. Holding the inventor’s face between her palms, Myka indulged herself in one more kiss. Their lips parted and she snuggled into the crook between shoulder and neck before whispering a heartfelt ‘I love you’.

Helena smiled into the dark, returned the sentiment without hesitation and yawned, “Merry Christmas, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had fun reading this, even though Christmas was a month ago! Comment if you can and I will find time to respond.


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